Draven's pov
They said ghosts don't exist.
They lied.
Because Chloe Riverdale,who once stood in front of me in flesh and blood, defiant and clever,was now nothing more than vapor. I stood before six monitors in my underground command room, each screen blinking with failure. Heat flushed through my neck as images scanned back and forth, maps flickering red, search logs looping endlessly like a cruel joke.
No trace.
No credit activity. No phone pings. No public cameras catching so much as a flicker of her shadow. And this was me,Draven,the man who could trace the heartbeat of a bird in flight if I wanted. But her?
Gone.
It was like chasing wind.
"Run it again," I growled at Lucas, my lead tech operative, who sat hunched before the main terminal.
He glanced back nervously. "Sir, we've run the trace five times. Cross-checked it with Interpol, satellite logs, darknet drops,"
"Again."
He swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir."
I clenched my jaw, turning away and pacing the black marble floor, fists tight. My boots echoed like war drums against the chamber's walls. I've torn apart entire governments to find fugitives before. Chloe Riverdale was just one woman. One woman with no fortune, no army,just secrets. Hell a damn agent!
And yet, somehow, she'd disappeared like a damn myth.
I slammed my fist against the glass table. The crack that spread through it mirrored the one forming in my chest. My patience,my control,was slipping.
She slipped right through your hands. Again.
I didn't like losing.
And this time, it wasn't just personal.
It was catastrophic.
Because for years, I'd been watching the wrong person. Obsessed over the wrong name. The wrong patterns. While Chloe laid her traps in the shadows, quietly moving, erasing her existence piece by piece. All while I mistook Eira's fire, her fury, her unpredictability,for guilt.
I'd been wrong.
Blinded.
And now, I was paying for it.
Lucas hesitated behind me. "Sir… there's something else."
I turned sharply, my voice like a blade. "Spit it out."
He brought up a screen. A burnt-out clinic in Belarus. Surveillance footage,blurry and incomplete,showed two figures entering the back door late at night. One male, one female. An hour later, flames. Then, black smoke.
"Local officials claim it was an accident," Lucas said quietly. "But the lab was sterilized. All patient records,gone. And the body they found?"
My pulse slowed to ice.
"Was it the doctor?"
Lucas nodded. "Dr. Marcus Lien. He worked in off-grid gene therapy and biological tracking. Former MI5 asset turned rogue."
I knew the name.
I hired the man once,ten years ago,for a private operation.
Chloe had gone to him.
And now, he was dead.
"Find the woman in that footage," I ordered. "Enhance the facial structure. If I can't find Chloe, I'll find the thread she left behind."
"Yes, sir."
I didn't waste another breath. I turned and strode out of the command center, the silence following me like a curse.
The private elevator crawled upward at an agonizing pace. My mind stayed rooted in that smoky footage, wondering how someone like Chloe,calculated, but never unpredictable,had suddenly outmaneuvered me. Who the hell was helping her?
And what had she taken when she vanished?
I stepped into the corridor of the safehouse. Edward waited outside Eira's room with a strained expression, and that alone sent something hard slamming against my ribs.
"What happened?" I barked before he could speak.
"She collapsed again," Edward said grimly. "Slipped into shock. I tried calling the medic, but she wouldn't let anyone touch her. She kept whispering your name like it was a curse."
My stomach twisted. "Is she conscious?"
"She's resting now. But she was… ice-cold. I've never seen her look so...lost."
I didn't answer. There were no words.
I walked straight into her room, shutting the door behind me.
The light was low, shadows painting the edges of the walls. Eira lay curled on the bed, knees drawn to her chest like a child hiding from monsters. Her breathing was shallow. Even across the room, I could feel the distance she'd wrapped herself in,the fortress she'd built to keep me out.
Not even this sterile sanctuary could cover the bruises of our past.
I sat on the edge of the bed, carefully. Not touching her. Just… close.
Her eyes fluttered open. Glazed. Distant.
"Go away," she whispered.
"I can't."
"You should," she rasped. "You're not the cure. You're the sickness."
God, that hurt. More than it should've. But I didn't flinch.
"I know," I said, my voice low. "And I deserve that. Maybe more."
Her lips trembled. "You said you'd protect me. All you did was chain me."
"I was wrong," I murmured. "About everything. About you. About Chloe."
Her head turned slightly.
She heard that.
"She's real?" she asked. "You finally believe me?"
"I should've believed you a long time ago."
She blinked slowly. Tears welled in her eyes.
"I thought I was losing my mind," she whispered.
"I thought I was punishing a criminal that had wronged me," I confessed. "But I was just caging the wrong bird while the wolf slipped through the door."
She didn't answer. Didn't cry. Didn't scream.
That silence? It was mercy.
I dragged a hand down my face, every muscle tight. I wasn't just angry anymore. I was tired. The kind of tired that seeps into your soul, dragging behind you like chains.
"I'm running out of time, Eira," I finally said.
Her brows drew together. "What do you mean?"
"I need you to see her for what she is. Before she comes for you again. Before she burns everything down."
"And if I can't?" she asked, gaze like steel through tears.
"Then I'll stand between you and the fire. Even if it kills me."
She turned her face away, curling tighter into herself.
"You should go," she whispered.
"I'm staying."
No threats. No demands. Just truth.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, staring at the floor like it might offer some kind of clarity.
She might never forgive me.
And Chloe might never be found.
But I wasn't done.
Not until every lie had been turned over. Every ghost unmasked.
Even if the last one was me.